ACT I, SCENE I.
Enter Pisaro.
How smug this grey-ey'd morning seems to be!
A pleasant sight; but yet more pleasure have I
To think upon this moist'ning southwest wind,
That drives my laden ships from fertile Spain.
But come what will, no wind can come amiss.
For two and thirty winds that rule the seas,
And blow about this airy region,
Thirty-two ships have I to equal them,
Whose wealthy freights do make Pisaro rich:
Thus every soil to me is natural.
Indeed, by birth I am a Portingal
Who, driven by western winds on English shore,
Here, liking of the soil, I married,
And have three daughters: but impartial death
Long since depriv'd me of her dearest life;
Since whose decease in London I have dwelt,
And by the sweet-lov'd trade of usury,
Letting for interest and on mortgages,
Do I wax rich; though many gentlemen
By my extortion come to misery.
Amongst the rest, three English gentlemen
Have pawned to me their livings and their lands:
Each several hoping, though their hopes are vain,
By marriage of my daughters to possess
Their patrimonies and their lands again.
But gold is sweet, and they deceive themselves;
For though I gild my temples with a smile,
It is but Judas-like to work their ends.
But soft, what noise of footing do I hear? [Retires.
Enter Laurentia, Marina, Mathea, and Anthony.
Laur. Now, master, what intend you to read to us?
Anth. Pisaro, your father, would have me read moral philosophy.
Mar. What's that?
Anth. First tell me how you like it?
Math. First tell us what it is.
Pis. They be my daughters and their schoolmaster.
Pisaro, not a word, but list their talk. [Aside.
Anth. Gentlewomen, to paint philosophy,
Is to present youth with so sour a dish,
As their abhorring stomachs nill digest.
When first my mother Oxford (England's pride)
Foster'd me, pupil-like, with her rich store,
My study was to read philosophy;
But since my headstrong youth's unbridled will,
Scorning the leaden fetters of restraint,
Hath prun'd my feathers to a higher pitch.
Gentlewomen, moral philosophy is a kind of art,
The most contrary to your tender sexes;
It teacheth to be grave, and on that brow,
Where beauty in her rarest glory shines,
Plants the sad semblance of decayed age.
Those weeds, that with their riches should adorn
And grace fair nature's curious workmanship,
Must be converted to a black-faced veil,
Grief's livery and sorrow's semblance:
Your food must be your hearts' abundant sighs,
Steep'd in the brinish liquor of your tears:
Daylight as dark night—dark night spent in prayer:
Thoughts your companions, and repentant minds
The recreation of your tired spirits.
Gentlewomen, if you can like this modesty,[477]
Then will I read to you philosophy.
Laur. Not I.
Mar. Fie upon it.
Math. Hang up philosophy, I'll none of it.[478]
Pis. A tutor, said I? a tutor for the devil.
[Aside.
Anth. No, gentlewomen, Anthony hath learn'd
To read a letter of more pleasing worth.
Marina, read these lines; young Harvey sent them;
There every line repugns philosophy;
Then love him, for he hates the thing thou hates.
Laurentia, this is thine from Ferdinand;
Think every golden circle that thou seest
The rich unvalued circle of his worth.[479]
Mathea, with these gloves thy Ned salutes thee;
As often as these hide these from the sun,[480]
And wanton steal a kiss from thy fair hand,
Presents his serviceable true heart's zeal,
Which waits upon the censure of thy doom.
What though their lands be mortgag'd to your father,
Yet may your dowries redeem that debt:
Think they are gentlemen, and think they love,
And be that thought their true love's advocate.
Say you should wed for wealth, for to that scope
Your father's greedy disposition tends,
The world would say that you were had for wealth,
And so fair beauty's honour quite extinct.[481]
A mass of wealth being pour'd upon another,
Little augments the show, although the sum;
But being lightly scattered by itself,
It doubles what it seem'd, although but one.
Even so yourselves; for, wedded to the rich,
His style was as it was, a rich man still;
But wedding these, to wed true love is duty,
You make them rich in wealth, but more in beauty.
I need not plead: that smile shows heart's consent;
That kiss show'd love, that on that gift was lent:
And (last) thine eyes, that tears of true joy send,
As comfortable tidings for my friend.
Mar. Have done, have done: what need'st thou more procure,
When long ere this I stoop'd to that fair lure.
"Thy ever-loving Harvey," I delight it;
Marina ever loving shall requite it.
Teach us philosophy! I'll be no nun.
Age scorns delight: I love it being young.[482]
There's not a word of this, not a word's part,
But shall be stamp'd, seal'd, printed on my heart.
On this I'll read, on this my senses ply,
All arts being vain, but this philosophy.
Laur. Why was I made a maid, but for a man?
And why Laurentia but for Ferdinand?
The chastest soul these angels could entice,
Much more himself—an angel of more price.
Wert thyself present, as my heart could wish,
Such usage thou shouldst have as I give this.
Anth. Then you would kiss him?
Laur. If I did, how then?
Anth. Nay, I say nothing to it, but amen.
Pis. The clerk must have his fees: I'll pay you them. [Aside.
Math. Good God, how abject is this single life!
I'll not abide it: father, friends, nor kin,
Shall once dissuade me from affecting him.[483]
A man's a man; and Ned is more than one:
I' faith, I'll have thee, Ned, or I'll have none.
Do what they can, chafe, chide, or storm their fill,
Mathea is resolv'd to have her will.
Pis. I can no longer hold my patience. [Coming forward.
Impudent villain[484] and lascivious girls,
I have o'erheard your vile conversions!
You scorn philosophy! you'll be no nun!
You must needs kiss the purse, because he sent it!
And you, forsooth, you flirtgill, minion,
A brat scant folded in the dozens at most,[485]
You'll have your will, forsooth! What will you have?
Math. But twelve year old? Nay, father, that's not so;
Our sexton told me I was three years mo.
Pis. I say but twelve: you're best tell me I lie.
What, sirrah Anthony!
Anth. Here, sir.
Pis. Come here, sir;
And you, light huswives, get you in:
Stare not upon me, move me not to ire. [Exeunt sisters.
Nay, sirrah, stay you here, I'll talk with you.
Did I retain thee, villain, in my house,
Give thee a stipend, twenty marks by year,
And hast thou thus infected my three girls,
Urging the love of those I most abhorr'd?
Unthrifts [and] beggars—what is worse—
And all because they are your countrymen.
Anth. Why, sir, I taught them not
To keep a merchant's book, or cast account:
Yet to a word much like that word account—
Pis. A knave past grace is past recovery.
Why, sirrah Frisco, villain, loggerhead!
Where art thou?
Enter Frisco the Clown.
Fris. Here's a calling indeed! a man were better to live a lord's life and do nothing, than a serving creature, and never be idle. O master, what a mess of brewis stands now upon the point of spoiling by your hastiness. Why, they were able to have got a good stomach with child, even with the sight of them; and for a vapour—O precious vapour! Let but a wench come near them with a painted face, and you should see the paint drop and curdle on her cheeks, like a piece of dry Essex cheese toasted at the fire.
Pis. Well, sirrah, leave this thought, and mind my words.
Give diligence; inquire about
For one that is expert in languages,
A good musician and a Frenchman born,
And bring him hither to instruct my daughters.
I'll ne'er trust more a smooth-fac'd Englishman.
Fris. What, must I bring one that can speak languages? what an old ass is my master! [Aside.] Why, he may speak flaunte taunte as well as French, for I cannot understand him.
Pis. If he speak French, thus he will say, Oui, Oui.
What, can'st thou remember it?
Fris. O, I have it now, for I remember my great grandfather's grandmother's sister's cousin told me, that pigs and Frenchmen speak one language, awee, awee; I am dog at this. But what must he speak else?
Pis. Dutch.
Fris. Let's hear it?
Pis. Haunce butterkin slowpin.
Fris. O, this is nothing, for I can speak perfect Dutch when I list.
Pis. Can you? I pray let's hear some.
Fris. Nay, I must have my mouth full of meat first, and then you shall hear me grumble it forth full-mouth; as, haunce butterkin slowpin frokin. O,[486] I am a simple Dutchman. Well, I'll about it.
Pis. Stay, sirrah, you are too hasty; for he must speak one language more.
Fris. More languages? I trust he shall have tongues enough for one mouth. But what is the third?
Pis. Italian.
Fris. Why, that is the easiest of all, for I can tell whether lie have any Italian in him even by looking on him.
Pis. Can you so? as how?
Fris. Marry, by these three points: a wanton eye, pride in his apparel, and the devil in his countenance. Well, God keep me from the devil in seeking this Frenchman. But do you hear me, master? what shall my fellow Anthony do? it seems he shall serve for nothing but to put Latin into my young mistresses.
Pis. Hence, ass! hence, loggerhead! begone, I say.
And now to you that read philosophy. [Exit Frisco.
Pack from my house: I do discharge thy service,
And come not near my doors: for if thou dost,
I'll make thee a public example to the world.
Anth. Well, crafty fox, you that work by wit,
It may be I may live to fit you yet.
[Aside. Exit Anthony.
Pis. Ah! sirrah, this trick was spied in time,
For if but two such lectures more they'd heard,
For ever had their honest names been marr'd.
I'll in and rate them; yet that's not best:
The girls are wilful, and severity
May make them careless, mad, or desperate.
What shall I do? O, I have found it now.
There are three wealthy merchants in the town,
All strangers, and my very special friends:
The one of them is an Italian,
A Frenchman and a Dutchman be the other.
These three entirely do affect my daughters,
And therefore mean I they shall have the tongues,
That they may answer in their several language.
But what helps that? they must not stay so long;
For whiles they are a-learning languages,
My English youths both wed and bed them too.
Which to prevent, I'll seek the strangers out.
Let's look; 'tis past eleven; Exchange time full:
There shall I meet them, and confer with them.
This work craves haste, my daughters must be wed;
For one month's stay saith,[487] farewell, maidenhead. [Exit.